


In Which Rodney Develops a Bit of a Fixation

by dogeared



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: M/M, beard
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-11-11
Updated: 2006-11-11
Packaged: 2017-10-03 11:23:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dogeared/pseuds/dogeared
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Even when he shaved every morning, John had a pretty good 5 o'clock (11 o'clock, 2am) shadow going by the end of the day, whenever that might be, and okay, maybe Rodney was a little obsessed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Which Rodney Develops a Bit of a Fixation

When John returned after 52 hours stranded off-world, he wasn't really any worse for wear. He was dusty, and tired, and scruffy, apparently in that order, because once he'd convinced Elizabeth they could debrief in the morning and had been cleared by Beckett, he showered and flopped down on the bed next to Rodney. He hadn't bothered to shave. Rodney noticed this because even though he was also pretty tired (since he'd spent the last 52 hours working on getting John back), John was rubbing his warm, stubbled cheek all over Rodney, scraping along his collarbone, prickling over his shoulder, even through his t-shirt, scratching against his bare belly where his shirt had rucked up until Rodney had goosebumps, and, yeah, Rodney was tired, but he still came hard and fast and breathless.

Rodney kept catching himself thinking about that night: squinting blearily at his computer screen and scratching absently at his chin when he stayed late in the lab; shaving hurriedly in the morning so he'd have time for breakfast before staff meeting. He remembered, so clearly, the relief of having John back--almost overpowered by his own exhaustion--and the way, despite that, he'd felt electrified when John'd rubbed his rough cheek over him, like there was a current humming under his skin, surging with every scrape of John's jaw.

Even when he shaved every morning, John had a pretty good 5 o'clock (11 o'clock, 2am) shadow going by the end of the day, whenever that might be, and okay, maybe Rodney was a little obsessed. He'd get distracted from kissing John and just let their cheeks rasp together. Or he'd let his hands wander up from John's chest, John's neck, running his thumbs over John's prickly skin, palming his jaw, attuned and sensitized and god, really really turned on.

And Rodney wasn't exactly subtle, and John wasn't exactly stupid. He'd been dreamily rubbing himself off, his forearm carefully arranged so that it slid against John's cheek every time he thrust forward, until he was suddenly aware of how still John was, and John had raised an eyebrow and said, "Rodney, what the hell are you doing?" and Rodney had accused him of spoiling the mood and spent the next seven minutes haltingly explaining his (totally justified!) "thing" (John's word) for John with a beard. John had scoffed a little ("What, you like beard burn?"), but then he'd rolled on top of Rodney and ground into him, and Rodney's brain went offline for a while.

When John showed up at breakfast unshaven a few days later, Rodney felt himself instantly blush, and then he almost choked when he tried to cough and sip his coffee at the same time. John just looked at him and grinned.

Elizabeth seemed to think it was some sort of phase and didn't object, although Rodney overheard John reassuring her that yes, he was sleeping just fine. Caldwell was in another galaxy. Ronon offered to help him sculpt it; John politely declined. Rodney snickered until John turned and stared at him, at which point he blushed. Again. Damn it.

Two weeks in, Rodney was fairly sure he was going to _die_ from the anticipation, and maybe John had picked up on his desperation, or maybe it was all part of his master plan (at least he now had definitive proof of how much of a goddamned _tease_ John Sheppard was), but at dinner, John sat directly across from him and lazily scratched his cheek between bites of turkey sandwich, stroked his thumb back and forth along his lower lip after jello, rested his chin in his hand during coffee. Rodney almost forgot to eat.

"Heightmeyer thinks I'm having some kind of time dilation field flashback trauma," John said later, leaning back in his desk chair with his arms crossed. "Oh," said Rodney, who was standing just inside the door, barely resisting the urge to wring the hem of his jacket or fling himself bodily at John. "Are you?" John rolled his eyes and stood up fluidly, moving in close, taking Rodney's head in his hands, fitting his cheek against Rodney's neck and nuzzling. "I feel a little ridiculous," he murmured, and Rodney said "Oh _god_," and John said, "Okay, maybe not."

Rodney's hands hovered over John's shoulders, fingers fluttering against his collar, his hair, while John turned him and steered him slowly backward, all the time rasping his jaw up Rodney's face, grazing Rodney's temple with his chin, rubbing their lips together until Rodney's were tingling.

When John toppled them on the bed, it was like some switch in him had been flipped, and Rodney went from pliant to frantic, grabbing at John, feeling hot and antsy. "Hey, hey, take it easy," John said, pushing Rodney's shirt up and off and kissing his bicep messily, the scrape against his skin making him groan and shiver. John meandered down his side, and Rodney held his breath against the drag of his beard, and when John pushed his pants down and scraped his cheek hard up Rodney's thigh, he gasped at the burn. John chuckled and said, "You're kinda hot like this," and Rodney would have said, "Look who's talking," if he'd been able to speak. Instead, he hauled John back up and kissed him, kissed him and kneaded his shoulders, kissed him and slid his hands down until they were both gasping.

After, rubbing the side of his thumb lightly against John's jaw, Rodney thought, thank you. He said, "You can shave it." And John said, "Yeah. I think I will." He yawned. "But I might give it another couple of days."


End file.
